Nashe, Thomas · published 1600 · first performed or written 1592 (Annals) comedy · Unknown T44 Drinking: wine, ale and taverns typicality 0.66 · 513 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T44: drink, wine, numps, ale, butler, pot, sing, moy, drunk, win.
What, Bacchus: still animus in patinis, no mind but on the pot? Why, Summer, Summer, how wouldst do, but for rain? What is a fair house without water coming to it? Let me see how a smith can work, if he have not his trough standing by him. What sets an edge on a knife? the grindstone alone? no, the moist element poured upon it, which grinds out all gaps, sets a point upon it, & scours it as bright as the firmament. So, I tell thee, give a soldier wine before he goes to battle, it grinds out all gaps, it makes him forget all scars and wounds, and fight in the thickest of his enemies, as though he were but at foils, amongst his fellows. Give a scholar wine, going to his book, or being about to invent, it sets a new point on his wit, it glazeth it, it scours it, it gives him acumen. Plato saith, vinum esse fomitem quendam, et incit abilem ingenij virtutisque. Aristotle saith, Nulla est magna scientia absque mixtura dementiae. There is no excellent knowledge without mixture of madness. And what makes a man more mad in the head then wine? Qui bene vult poyein, debet axtá pinyen, he that will do well, must drink well. Prome, prome, potum prome: Ho butler, a fresh pot. Nunc est bibendum, nunc pede libero terra pulsanda: a pox on him that leaves his drink behind him; heigh Rendovow. It is wine's custom, to be full of words. I pray thee, Bacchus, give us vicissitudinem loquendi. A fiddlestick, ne'er tell me I am full of words. Foecundi calices, quem non fecere desertum: aut epi, aut abi, either take your drink, or you are an infidel. I would about thy vintage question thee: How thrive thy vines? hadst thou good store of grapes? Vinum quasivenenum, wine is poison to a sick body; a sick body is no sound body; Ergo, wine is a pure thing, & is poison to all corruption. Try-lill, the hunter's hoop to you: i'll stand to it, Alexander was a brave man, and yet an arrant drunkard. Fie, drunken sot, forgettest thou where thou art? My Lord asks thee, what vintage thou hast made? Our vintage, was a vintage, for it did not work upon the advantage, it came in the vanguard of Summer, & winds and storms met it by the way, and made it cry, Alas and welladay. That was not well, but all miscarried not? Faith, shall I tell you no lie? Because you are my countryman, & so forth, & a good fellow, is a good fellow, though he have never a penny in his purse: We had but even pot luck, a little to moisten our lips, and no more. That same Sol, is a Pagan, and a Proselyte, he shined so bright all summer, that he burnt more grapes, than his beams were worth, were every beam as big as a weavers beam. A fabis abstinendum: faith, he should have abstained: for what is flesh & blood without his liquour?
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
What, Bacchus: still animus in patinis, no mind but on the pot? Why, Summer, Summer, how would'st doe, but for rayne? What is a faire house without water comming to it? Let mee see how a smith can worke, if hee haue not his trough standing by him. What sets an edge on a knife? the grindstone alone? no, the moyst element powr'd vpō it, which grinds out all gaps, sets a poynt vpon it, & scowres it as bright as the firmament. So, I tell thee, giue a soldier wine before he goes to battaile, it grinds out all gaps, it makes him forget all scarres and wounds, and fight in the thickest of his enemies, as though hee were but at foyles, amongst his fellows. Giue a scholler wine, going to his booke, or being about to inuent, it sets a new poynt on his wit, it glazeth it, it scowres it, it giues him acumen. Plato saith, vinum esse fomitem quēdam, et incit abilem ingenij virtutisque. Aristotle saith, Nulla est magna scientia absque mixtura dementiae. There is no excellent knowledge without mixture of madnesse. And what makes a man more madde in the head then wine? Qui bene vult poyein, debet axtá pinyen, he that will doe well, must drinke well. Prome, prome, potum prome: Ho butler, a fresh pot. Nunc est bibēdum, nunc pede libero terra pulsanda: a pox on him that leaues his drinke behinde him; hey Rendouow. It is wines custome, to be full of words. I pray thee, Bacchus, giue vs vicissitudinem loquendi. A fiddlesticke, ne're tell me I am full of words. Foecundi calices, quem non fecere desertum: aut epi, aut abi, eyther take your drinke, or you are an infidell. I would about thy vintage question thee: How thriue thy vines? hadst thou good store of grapes? Vinum quasivenenum, wine is poyson to a sicke body; a sick body is no sound body; Ergo, wine is a pure thing, & is poyson to all corruption. Try-lill, the hūters hoope to you: ile stand to it, Alexander was a braue man, and yet an arrant drunkard. Fye, drunken sot, forget'st thou where thou art? My Lord askes thee, what vintage thou hast made? Our vintage, was a vintage, for it did not work vpon the aduantage, it came in the vauntgard of Summer, & winds and stormes met it by the way, and made it cry, Alas and welladay. That was not well, but all miscaried not? Faith, shal I tel you no lye? Because you are my coūtryman, & so forth, & a good fellow, is a good fellow, though he haue neuer a penny in his purse: We had but euen pot luck, a little to moysten our lips, and no more. That same Sol, is a Pagan, and a Proselite, hee shinde so bright all summer, that he burnd more grapes, then his beames were worth, were euery beame as big as a weauers beame. A fabis abstinendum: faith, he shuld haue abstaind: for what is flesh & blud without his liquor?